


Quiet Mornings

by XGarroway



Category: Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XGarroway/pseuds/XGarroway
Summary: After an awkward farewell and several years of not seeing each other, L's and B's paths intertwine again, in the resolution of a mysterious case in Manhattan.





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I clearly don't own DN.  
> The title and the ship, as well as lots of details on character developement, were provided to me by a fellow Tumblr mate - @sybilius. As regards the plot, that's me. English isn't my first language and this is my first fanfic ever, so please be patient to me and I hope you enjoy it! Also, you can find me on Tumblr as @voldy-in-my-turban

It struck me at that time -it still does-, how mundane our first encounter was. Though that’d only be a half of the truth. What shocks me the most is how deeply that first conversation dug into me, given its utter unextraordinary nature.

Being second at Wammy’s House, even with my intelligence and natural aptitudes, isn’t kids’ play. Hardly anything could be addressed as kids’ play at Wammy’s, which is rather ironic, considering the place’s bursting with children. Of course, that’s a reasonable first impression. In sooth, however, none of those aspirants were conventional children. They’re geniuses, masterminds, competitors, potential heirs to a worldwide-powerful title. None of these rivals fool around, not when they all want to become L someday.

Nor do I.

But, as I said, the brand of ‘second at Wammy’s’ is not an easy load to drag. Even with the advantage my outstanding wit, flexibility and creativeness grant me, it’d all be worth nothing without effort and hard work. Besides, if I ever wanted to surpass A and become L’s favorite and most likely heir, I couldn’t afford chilling. That’s why I built the habit of waking up early, sometimes even before dawn, to arrive at the library first and study. I soon learnt mornings are usually the quietest time of the day. I found it soothing, as if the whole still world -the forest, the books, the furniture- was awake for my sake only.

It seemed just like another quiet morning that day, when the order of things was disrupted.

_ What are you reading?  _ He asked, a thumb resting on his lower lip. I showed him, and seized the seconds he spent on examining the book cover to take in everything I could. Skinny, slouch body beneath oversized, shabby clothes. A black mess of a hair, and wide, owl-like grey eyes that fathomed everything they touched with their sheer analytical study, a dim sparkle of amusement dancing behind.

Then I read his name, the red letters floating over his head, right above the series of codified numbers. And felt my whole body go numb. This boy, who could barely be a year older than me, and who was even  _ shorter _ than I was…

_ You’re B, right? It is nice to meet you. I am- _

  1. It was L himself.



From that day on, I would wake up early and head to the library as usual. And he would be there, waiting for my appearance, a bundle of books ready, and lots of childish enthusiasm to share. We would spend most of the time studying in silence -well, I did the studying. But he seemed to enjoy leaving notes in all the books for me to read. Sometimes tips, sometimes questions for me to reflect upon what I was learning. During those quiet hours, it was too easy to forget this gawky thirteen-year-old was such. No, when it came to studying, he was a senpai, a teacher, a mentor. He was L.

Then, the books would close and we would get to talk to each other. I won’t lie, I was too overwhelmed by his reputation at first to be any good at chatting at all. But as days went by, I kept on finding more and more similarities between us, and my initial shyness dissolved. He would narrate some of the seemingly impossible cases he had tackled, and I would give my opinion or suggest different, new strategies for their resolution. It was almost like a little detective game. And sometimes, very occasionally, he would ask me about myself, from the most trivial details to the deepest of issues. I’m not the type to open up to other people, but I somehow ended up speaking it all out. There was something about having him, the great L, listening that felt warm and pleasant. Our daily morning encounters extended for two years, probably my best years at Wammy’s.

I don’t know why, but I liked it. I liked him.

But I messed up. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I was getting carried away and didn’t even realize. As I grew older, became a full-fledged fourteen-year-old, so did the other kids around me. I’m not pretty sure what triggered it, if it was some instinctive cruelty that comes with puberty or plain sadism, but they all suddenly decided my peculiar eyes were creepy, and therefore deserved to be mocked. Every day, I had to put up with unending bullying, that adopted the most unexpected and imaginative shapes. In response, I used my superhuman abilities to creep everyone out. I used my cultivated-since-childhood skills for intimidation and violence to threaten those who hurt me. And my venomous wit to make them choke on their words. The whole jam thing began more or less at the same time. Its sweetness was cleansing in my sharp tongue, and its coolness was the perfect remedy for my sore throat.

Elle, he realised something weird in my behavior. Not that I was surprised. He was L for something, after all. He pushed me to tell him everything, and even when I didn’t want to, I did. And I broke into tears. Not because those idiotic words cut deep into me, but because I was showing  _ him _ , of all people, the stupid, useless weakness I harbored inside the hard crust with which I had surrounded myself. All of it made me feel furious and murderous, and so I cried.

“Beyond…” he whispered. We’d been calling each other by our given names by then. I wiped the tears away, for it was the only thing I could do at the time, and stared at the blurry fifteen-year-old. His face was soft, his eyes tender inside the dark shadows that framed them. I’m not sure whether he was smiling or not. “I don’t care what they say. Your eyes make you special. And their color is beautiful.”

Even now, years later, I don’t know what got into me at that moment. I guess my brain stopped working for a few seconds -and those few seconds were enough. I can’t find any rational explanation to it. The only thing that was clear to me was that it just made no sense. Just like that, I found myself leaning forward and kissing Elle, my mentor, superior, friend, the great L, in the lips.

And just as swiftly and unfathomably as it happened, it finished, and all that was left was chilling awkwardness. We kept on studying in silence that day until, by breakfast time, Elle told me he had an important case ahead, and he’d be unable to make it to these daily encounters the following week. I nodded.

He soon got absorbed by work, and didn’t show up that week. Nor the next one. Nor the next one.

Nor the next one. I didn’t remember my mornings used to be so quiet.


	2. Three Years Later

It’s already been three years since then, and a ton of things happened in the meantime. I casually rested my sight on a brown-haired boy who bore a surprisingly reduced number over his head, and for some reason, instead of mocking me or calling me names, he decided to talk to me. And so, Alexander Ryuuzaga, A, and I became friends. The first and the second at Wammy’s. The kids, however, crafted a more bitter variation of that title: the heir and the backup. And the malice enveloping such plain words was not enough to conceal the truth, the real weapon they wielded. That was exactly what they all saw in me. A backup, in case the golden boy shall fall. But what made it worse was being able to see those numbers hovering above his head and knowing the fall got closer by the minute, and that, to everyone’s eyes, I would somehow have the blame. Why? Because I was second.

As regards L, he was never seen around Wammy’s House again anytime soon. It was as if he’d become a spectre, an omnipresent entity that lived in the orphanage’s walls, a constant vigilance everyone was aware of, and yet most kids had never seen his face or heard his voice in means other than through a synthesizer. And my study mornings remained silent, for A is used to staying up until late hours in the night, studying, and will sleep all the way through until lunchtime.

We will both turn eighteen soon. It somehow has the impression of being a memorable event, yet it holds no meaning to me. What good is there in becoming a legal adult if I still will be rooted to this place until either L retires or A dies? The first one’s unlikely, and the second one is just too grim a thought, too harsh a reality. I shouldn’t linger in it for too long, it’s dangerous.

I’m sitting at the table with A, brooding over these rough ideas while staring at my untouched lunch before me, when Roger approaches, telling us we’ve been summoned to the meeting room. We both shrug at each other and make our way out of the dining hall. How weird. If it isn’t Roger that wants to talk to us, but someone over him in the hierarchy, it can only be either Watari or…

By the time we get to the meeting room, I have already put together a mental list of all the reasons why L would want to speak to us both, but none of them seems convincing enough. To make things worse, my throat has gone dry and I’ve become way too conscious of my own heart, beating loudly in my chest. I tell myself it’s natural to be nervous. We’re speaking of L himself after all, that mysterious god-like entity whose face few people know. Anyone in this situation would feel this way.

It is indeed L who awaits us in the meeting room, after all. I come to a halt in the threshold, for seeing him again after all these years can’t possibly be any more unbelievable. He looks so much like he did back then, and so different at the same time. He still wears those shabby, oversized clothes, his hair’s still a mess, the shadows under his eyes haven’t dimmed, if only they grew darker. But he is taller and broader now, his face is slimmer, his cheekbones sharper. And there’s a new mood to his eyes too. A nonchalance and a professionalism that can only be achieved through maturity and a ton of experience.

The same concept applies to his voice.

“Thank you for coming, A and B. I am L.”

A bows almost instantly, showing great respect. It takes me a few seconds to bring myself up to copying him. That utter lack of emotion, of recognition… how weird. The beating in my chest stopped -as if I’m suddenly frozen.

Of course, A -like most kids at Wammy’s- doesn’t know him, and I never told him I did, so L’s introducing himself as if it was the first time we meet. That’s when I look down at myself and realize… I screwed up again.

I’ve been wearing the same clothes as L ever since we parted, three years ago. Nobody understood what the outfit meant to me. Not only a way of keeping my former friend close, but also a silent declaration that I’ll do anything to become him. Yet now, L is narrowing his eyes at me, and A’s gaze bounces from L to me, and back.

Now I just feel stupid.

Fortunately, none of them speaks the astounding correlation out loud.

“The reason why I summoned you two here” L continues, sitting on the armchair, the same way he did as a boy -feet on the edge of the seat, knees brought to the chest “was to inform you of a practical evaluation I’ll put you both under.”

Oh.

“Since you are both turning into legal adults very soon, and one of you will eventually become my successor, Watari and I agreed it was a good chance to observe you take a case by yourselves.”

Oh, god.

“There is a serial rapist and killer in Manhattan who has already taken nineteen innocent women’s lives. But do not let this vague introduction mislead you. His intelligence is above the normal standards. I will explain in detail later.”

I was born in New York. L must know that. That’s probably why he summoned us both. This is clearly easy enough a case for L to solve it himself. Even A could deal with it, if it came to England or Japan. But my knowledge of the city will come in handy. Other than that, the only reason why L would want us both is-

“I want you two to work on the resolution of this case together because you both have very wide skill sets, and you may complement each other swiftly in the practice. If this proves to be true -and the probability of such outcome is 87.5%- I might consider naming both of you L.”

Yes, that’s what I thought. I glance at A through the corner of my eye, and he’s doing the same. We look at each other and grin.

“I do not think you will find any difficulty in working together.” L adds. “As far as I know, you two get along very well.”

Something in his tone ticks me off. It’s clear that A hasn’t noticed it. He couldn’t have, he doesn’t know him as well as I do. I rest my eyes on him and realize -he’s staring at me. And his words, as neutral as they seemed, leave me a bitter aftertaste. They were dry, in that very particular way that can only be attributed to rancor or mockery. Which one was it? Either way, it pisses me off.

“When will this practical evaluation take place?” I ask, wielding an equal dryness.

“Immediately. The three of us will be taking a private plane to New York tonight.”


	3. Coffee And Talk

I sip my coffee in silence, while observing the city through the huge picture window. The buildings creep up like fangs nibbling on the pink sky, barely a few cars carving their way up and down the streets, the first rays of sunlight trespassing the glass and illuminating the apartment’s insides. A beautiful, quiet morning.

After feeding us all the details on the serial killer, L introduced us both to this place, where we’re now staying, for as long as our little evaluation lasts. Which won’t be long, really. A and I’ve been discussing strategies while still on the plane yesterday, and I believe we’ll be over with this case tonight.

It’s really refreshing, changing places for a while. I was growing sick of Wammy’s, and breathing in New York’s air is sort of cleansing. Besides, there’s now way I’m getting to see this penthouse view again anytime soon, so I’d better enjoy it. I stretch out on the leather couch and close my eyes, letting out a pleased groan when I feel the sun warming my skin.

“Good morning.”

I snap my eyes open and sit up, looking at the kitchen bar over my shoulder. There I see L, who’s serving himself a mug of coffee and overloading it with sugar. I didn’t even hear the rustle of his feet when he came into the room. Did I fall asleep? How long has he been there, anyway? The hem of my black t-shirt has rolled up to the middle of my stomach when I laid, so I tug it down. My heart’s racing, probably due to startlement.

“Morning.” I reply, removing my hair from my face and trying my best to appear casual. “Hum, when did you-”

“About two seconds ago. You had just stretched out when I came in.”

So I didn’t fall asleep. He just happened to show up with great timing.

“I apologize if I disturbed you.” he then adds, turning around with his mug in hand.

“No!” he turns around and fixes his grey stare in me. Now I realize I kind of screamed at him, and my face feels hot.  _ What the hell’s going on with me? Chill out already. _ “No, you’re not disturbing me. Please- take a seat.”

He does, in his own peculiar way, on the twin couch in front of me. We both empty our cups in silence; but a different kind of silence than the one that reigned before. What a few minutes ago was soothing now just freaks me out.

“So… how has work been? Any interesting cases?”

Worst. Conversation attempt. Ever.

“There were a few remarkable ones, indeed.” L answers, though, and he immediately begins narrating the astounding events, his expression softening. I begin to relax. Weird, how after three years of not even seeing or speaking to each other, everything feels the same.

“But what if you’d just opened the package there and then?” I suggest. “That way you could’ve solved the case  _ way _ faster.”

“The man was a professional poisoncrafter, Beyond. There was a 67% chance doing that would kill me.”

“But it didn’t.”

“And your suggestion for finding out the easy way is…”

“Getting into an isolated room, the two of you, and threatening to open the box. His fearful reaction would’ve given him in.”

“He could be afraid of me seeing what the box contained, not necessarily of the box being opened by itself.” L points out, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, but the he-will-unravel-me expression and the he-will-kill-us-both expression are fundamentally different.” I point out, grinning superciliously.

He studies my face for several seconds, before breaking into a soft smirk himself.

“Fine. I did not come up with that at the time. Happy?”

“Fulsomely.”

He snorts, and I giggle softly. I don’t normally laugh in front of people I don’t want to creep out, for most people find my laughter unnatural and frightening. But I never took such cares with L. In return, he never criticized it.

“What about  _ your  _ life, B?”

“Huh?”

I run a hand through my black hair -no matter what, it always ends falling over my face, but I don’t want to get it cut- and, when our eyes find, I feel a pang of something completely unknown in my chest. The way he’s looking at me, as if I was a puzzle he’s trying to solve… no, that’s not quite right. When L works on an enigma, his face is overtaken by seeming indifference, but that’s not the case now. He  _ is _ trying to decipher me, but there’s a certain tune to his voice, a manner to his eyes, that tells me he -not L, but Elle Lawliet- cares.

Was it… really just work that kept him from coming back to me these years?

“It has been a while since we last had a conversation-”

“Three years.” I cut him. I don’t pretend to sound rude, nor am I in the position of claiming nothing from him, but there’s so much I’ve been wanting to tell him and I didn’t even know I did. “You said a week. But they were three _ years _ , Elle.”

He bows his head, studying his own feet while his thumb grazes his lower lip absentmindedly. My stare inevitably lands there, and memories begin pouring in my mind; memories of a fourteen-year-old me, brushing that same lip with mine own. The mistake that tore us apart. The mistake I can’t even give sense to.

“I know. I am sorry.”

Another pang, a fiercer one this time, invades me, and I shut my eyes.

“No need to apologize.” I reply, my voice slightly strained. Then there’s silence.

_ I like it that you did, though _ .

I hear a rustling sound approaching, and then the leather sinks by my side. I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s now sitting by my right, with his legs braced against his chest, as he always did when we were kids. Still, I open them anyway. The corner of his lip is raised, but only dimly. Is that a smile?

“I missed these morning talks with you, B.”

His words shake something inside of me, something I thought I’d dug too deep to be recovered. And I realize…

I could kill this bastard.

“I did too.” And completely against my will, I’m smiling.


	4. Getting ready

“Alright, so here’s the plan.”

It’s 4 pm, which means we’ll begin with the last preparations very soon. It didn’t take us long to figure out who our un-sub is. The great violence displayed in the scenes suggests it is a man, probably in his middle thirties, with a sick need for power over his victims. Impotence, rancor, those are probably the feelings conquering his actions. A bruise in one of the women’s arms revealed he has rather short fingers for an average adult. He’s probably either of low height or tiny-handed.

Yet, the meticulousness with which he vanished all traces of his person seems to point at an intelligence above average.

And none of the witnesses who last saw the victims on their death dates noticed they were taken away through force. They weren’t even seen leaving  _ with _ a man…

All his victims were beautiful young women, all of them wealthy and successful in their respective fields.

He must be well versed in the art of manipulation, professionally so. He lured his preys into his trap. A tiny-handed man who suffers from emotional -maybe sexual- impotence who manages to captivate young, smart, sensuous women must be really good at talking. The kind of people who don’t wince or bat an eye under great pressure.

Besides, the places he took his victims to… he must have planned his hunts beforehand to be able to book rooms in such exclusive hotels. He must be nastily rich too.

But those men have one fatal weakness. Seduce them, and they’ll ignore you just to feel like they own and conquer your desires. Praise them, and they’ll answer dryly while burning in the inside. Sympathise with them… and they’ll read their pathetic diary out loud for you.

Together with A, we got through all the official files and witnesses’ declarations and drew a perimeter. Given the times at which the dead women left the bars and that our unsub is a professional who probably works until late Happy Hour, his place of work must be somewhere inside said perimeter.

A tiny wealthy man who is great at talking and manipulation, who can put up with great deals of pressure on a daily basis and keep on smiling, who suffers from a deadly emotional impotence and works somewhere in northern Manhattan…

Kip Wallace, that’s the man. Disgustingly successful lawyer, nicknamed ‘Martin Freeman’s little brother’ by his colleagues; his wife -beautiful, wealthy, miss Susan Lafont- has asked for the divorce two months ago alleging domestic violence, which will drill a hole in both Kip’s reputation  _ and _ bank account. The only thing that keeps him from killing  _ her _ is a restriction order. His firm, which he founded from thin air and currently owns, is inside A’s calculations.

“So you know who the killer is.” L summed up when we presented our first report. “You must realize anybody with some skill at research and human nature could deduce this, right?”

“But we’re not ending it there!” I reply.

“Besides, you just confirmed our suspicions on Wallace, L.” A adds, a certain tone of amusement dancing in his voice. We smirk at each other.

“How do you plan to catch him, then?” L continues, pretending to be completely nonchalant about his slip.

“That” I stand up and lean with my back against the counter to face him. “is a surprise, dear L.”

“Oh, is it?” He steps forward, nibbling on the tip of his thumb while performing an amused grin.

His stare is so intense I feel like it’s fathoming me, but I don’t break eye contact. Instead I smile back at him with equal malice.

A clears his throat. That’s when I realize we’ve been smirking at each other for several seconds, and just how close we’re standing from each other. L’s smile casually disappears from his face before he turns and takes a seat nearby. I look away and run a hand through my hair, so it will veil my newly-blushed face.

“But we  _ can _ tell you something.” A concedes, while resuming the typing in his laptop. “B will confront Wallace directly.”

“I supposed he would.” L’s speech is cold and professional, and I answer in the same way.

“I want to know how he shuts the doors. But I can’t afford watching him kill someone else only to find that out.”

There is one little detail about Kip Wallace’s murders that called my attention from the very beginning, and that is, that all the victims were murdered indoors, and their bodies found in locked rooms. No evidence whatsoever that someone locked them from the inside, and no imaginable way of doing it from the outside. How did he do it? And the crime scenes didn’t look like suicides at all, so there’s no point in feigning them as such. Why does he even bother?

“So I’ll make him show me.”

“Yes.” L confirms. “I thought you would want to do something like that. And I am intrigued to see how both of you will achieve it.”

“Alright then!” A then stands up, shutting the laptop. “I’ll go get everything ready at the hotel.”

“Kay.”

And just like that, I’m left alone with Elle.

“Could Watari get all the stuff I asked for?” I murmur, for the room suddenly seems so quiet.

“He could. You will find everything in a box in your room.”

“Good. I’ll go get ready, then. It’ll take me some time.”

I begin walking towards my room, only to realize L’s seat is right in the middle of the way. Before I even think of dodging him, he leaps to his feet. He’s incredibly close to me now, so close I can smell the scent of his hair. His huge, grey-black eyes only inches apart, staring through me with so much intensity I feel my pulse taking a wild sprint.

“I do not know what you are planning, Beyond.” He whispers. “But please remember to look after yourself.”

I try to gulp down the knot that’s taken shape in my throat, and find it to be futile.

“Sure.”

“Don’t do anything reckless. Don’t get injured.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t die.”

And with that last order, I’d swear Elle’s voice quivered. Even his face has changed completely -not a speck of indifference in it. Does he… know what I’m planning to do? Has he somehow figured it out? Anyhow, he’s worried about me. For some reason, my hands begin sweating and my knees are suddenly weaker. I may be catching a cold.

“I’ll be back. I promise.” I assure him, while silently scolding myself for just how annoyingly  _ tremulous _ I sound. Simply pathetic. Yet...

“I’ll be waiting.” He replies, barely breathing out the words.


	5. Show Time

I make my way into the crowded bar. I’m terribly aware of the looks some people -more specifically men- are giving me, but I don’t let them distract me; my gait remains elegant and my head high.

“He’s sitting at the bar.” A’s voice speaks to me through the earphone hidden in my ear. There’s a camera in my necklace too, so he sees everything I see. “To your right. Next to the blond woman.”

I follow his instructions, and there I see them. The woman’s face is halfway turned in my direction, and I can read the name and numbers hovering above her head. Both her face and name ring a bell. She must’ve made an appearance on TV not long ago. As regards him-

I wasn’t able to even take a glimpse of a picture of Kip Wallace until now, and he’s now giving me his back, so I have no idea what his face looks like, nor know I for how long he’ll live. But for what I can see from here, he’s short and his suit is clearly expensive. And the woman’s lifespan is still far from meeting its end, so he’s not gonna kill her tonight. Good.

“A.” I call, as low as I can so no one will hear me.

“Tell me, sweetie.”

I smirk. A’s not the joker type, but when he  _ does _ tell a joke, he always catches me off-guard.

“The woman. I’ve seen her on TV a few days ago. Her name’s Beverly Adams.”

“Give me a sec.” I hear some typing in the background, and then A’s voice returns. “Yeah, she’s a wealthy lady, appeared in the news recently; she gave a million-dollar worth of donations to some benefic institution…”

“A, I need you to-”

“I know. Get rid of her so you can go get Wallace. I’ve got this. I already found her contact data. Just give me about ten seconds.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He laughs at my retort, and then the communication is cut.

Some seconds later, Adam’s phone is ringing. I observe from a shaded corner as she withdraws it and listens to whatever A is telling her. Her face suddenly grows concerned; she gathers her stuff and apologizes to Wallace before exiting the place with a quick stride. Well done, A.

Time to move.

I walk towards the bar, as silently as I can, and slide onto the stool Beverly was occupying a moment ago. Only after gulping down the rest of his whiskey does Kip Wallace lower the glass and realize I’m sitting beside him. It is indeed him, I corroborate after reading the red letters crowning his half-bald head.

“Goodnight, my lady.” He says.

My disguise fooled him. Not that it surprises me, though. When it comes to costumes and undercover work, no one can beat me. See? That’s one thing L should learn from me.

It took me a total time of four hours to get ready, which means I had to rush things a bit. I used professional materials and a mold of my face to craft myself new features, such as a rounder, softer face, fuller lips, denser eyelashes and even a pair of breasts. After applying makeup until it all mimicked my skin, I inlayed myself into a fine red velvet dress that matches my eyes and a pair of stilettos that make wonders with my shins -I had to shave my legs. I don’t recommend it at all. I also straightened my hair, reason why I feel the locks brushing my bare shoulders every now and then; I didn’t even know it’s already grown this long.

Just like that, I turned myself into a woman. Ready to play Kip Wallace’s hunt game. Let’s see who the winner is.

“Hello, handsome.” I reply, my voice softened into that of a woman’s, and grin seductively at the serial killer before me.

I hear some huffed breathing in my ear, and remember that L is now accompanying A, monitoring our performance. Those bastards are probably doing their best not to laugh their heads off at me. I know at least A is. But what might be L thinking?

What did he think of me calling A ‘babe’? Shit, I didn’t think of that.

“What’re you doing in a place like this all by yourself? A beautiful young lady like you?” Kip continues, evidently satisfied to have my attention.

“I’m obviously waiting for you to buy me a drink.”

He calls at the bartender, and I seize the chance to glance at the symbols over his head again, for I didn’t quite grasp his lifespan the first time-

Oh, shit. This isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. The bartender serves two tequila shots and places them in front of each of us. Wallace empties his, and I copy his movements, even though my mind’s racing and I’m seriously freaking out.

“Excuse me, darling, but I must go to the restroom.” I tell him, after half an hour of drinking and petty talk.

Once in there, I check every cubicle, in case there is someone in here who could hear me speak.

“Hey, B. What’s going on?” A speaks to me, but I don’t answer. Not until I’m a hundred percent sure I’m alone.

“Is everything okay?”

“No.” I answer, leaning against the sink counter and clutching the ceramic edge. “A, listen to me. I need  _ you _ to listen.”

I hope he gets what I’m trying to say. I can’t let my following words reach Elle.

“It’s alright. He’s in the bathroom.” He whispers. Bless you, A. “What is it?”

“We’re gonna fail.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tonight. Kip Wallace. All this… we won’t catch him tonight, A.”

“What…?” I stay silent, allowing him to process what I just said. “How do you know?”

This morning, before A woke up, I asked L about what would happen to the killer once he got caught.

_ Since Death Penalty is not regent here in New York, he will be sent to New Hampshire, where he will be sentenced after the formal trial. _

But, if we were to catch Kip Wallace tonight, that means his lifespan should now mark a few days, or a few months left at the most. The numbers indicated that he’s still got several years ahead of him instead. The only reasonable explanation is that he either gets away with it in trial -which is completely unlikely given all the evidence against him we’ll gather tonight-, or that we don’t even  _ get _ to catch him at all.

And I can’t even tell A any of this, for he has no idea about my eyes.

“I… can’t explain, okay? You’ll have to trust me. Think you can do that?”

“I don’t know, B. I don’t understand any of this, and you won’t say anything to me.”

“I know. Sorry. I promise I’ll do my best to get tonight right, but… just in case things get tough… make sure you send help quickly.”

A long silence. Well, I guess it’s my fault. As far as I can recall, this is the first time I show him my nervousness. The first time he can’t rely on my unyielding confidence.

“Sure.”

“Keep an eye on Wallace at all times, okay?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“And B…”

“Hm?”

A short pause, and then…

“Don’t get yourself killed?”

Well, that makes it two people who have said that to me today. Should I take it as an omen? Against my rationality, my insecurity and any speck of reason left in me, I chuckle.


	6. The Hunting

“I’m sorry I made you wait. Had to retouch my makeup.”

“Yes. I don’t like it when people make me wait.” he answers dryly, while gulping down a shot that wasn’t there when I left.

So now he’s playing hard to get. Of course, after flattering women for about an hour, no doubt they freaked out when they encountered his cold denial.

Time for phase two.

“You know,” I purr, while tracing the line of his neck with the tip of my polished nail. “I’ve never met a man as intelligent and handsome as you.”

He groans at me as an answer.

“Or as manipulative.”

Now that catches him off-guard. He quickly lands his eyes on me, pretending to be offended. Oh, but I know that glow in his eyes. He’s intrigued. Probably turned on.

“B, what are you doing?” A scolds me through the earphone. His voice then sounds muffled; he’s probably speaking to Elle beside him: “This was not part of the plan.”

I chuckle, for now Kip Wallace, the prey of his own game, is sitting in front of me, and the show must go on. It takes me a superhuman effort to fake a normal laugh.

“C’mon, Kip. I know what you’re doing. Now that you’ve seduced me, you’re being cold so I work up a little bit in compensation.”

“Oh, am I?” He performs a feigned frown of indignation. Yet, he’s smirking, evidently amused, and his eyes darken with desire. “No woman has ever gotten as far as saying this to my face.”

_ Because they were dead before they could. They were dead before they even knew what they were getting into _ .

“You’ll realize I’m not like any woman you’ve ever met.” I reply, and cover his hand with mine. “So you won’t need that with me.”

“So this was your plan all along. And you didn’t even tell me?” says the voice in my ear with reproach.”You’re one naughty little bastard, B.” Shut up, A.

“I think we agree on that.” Oh, c’mon. Elle too? For god’s sake.

Okay. Time for phase three. I casually place my other hand on the edge of the glass. From this angle, it will appear at the periphery of A’s screen. As softly as I can, in order not to call Wallace’s attention, I perform my special sign to A, the one that tells him it’s time to intercept the TV signal.

“On my way.”

I continue chatting with the killer for a few minutes until the screen changes, suddenly showing the news channel, actually a segment we recorded from yesterday’s program. The news anchor stares at the camera with a concerned expression upon her person as she speaks. Next to her face, nineteen pictures of women’s faces.

“ _...police is still investigating who this despicable killer who hunts in northern Manhattan might be, and how exactly does he trick his victims into trusting them. Will the families of these women ever be able to see them behind bars? _ ”

And back to the original program. I take a quick peek of Wallace’s expression. How does he react to seeing the faces of all the people he’s killed, right in front of him? At a first sight, it seems he doesn’t care at all, but… his shoulders have become tense. His hand clenches the glass as if it was a neck he’s trying to squeeze. And his eyes are brimming with lust. I can’t quite explain just how disgusted it makes me feel when  _ that _ look lands on me.

But I’m not one of your victims, Wallace.

“Wow. It’s been nineteen already? And he hasn’t been identified yet?” I chatter, doing my best to sound like a vain, unfeeling girl. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this killer must be a terribly smart pal. Now  _ this _ is entertaining.”

He arches his eyebrows at me. Will he fall for this?

“Are you, by any chance, praising a serial killer, beauty?”

“His intelligence is something to be admired, don’t you think?” I then lean forward, our faces a horribly narrow distance apart, as my hand brushes his knee and begins moving upwards. “I’ve got a thing for brainies. They’re so exciting.”

“But aren’t you afraid… he might go get  _ you _ ?” He fell. Now he  _ is _ turned on. Well, who better than a man to seduce another man?

“Not at all.”

“How so?”

Here it is, my last card to play; at least the last one A knows nothing about. I knew I would have to use it if it came to this… I just hope he can forgive me for never telling him anything about it. I narrow my eyes at Kip Wallace and look at him through the lashes, maximizing the effect my eyecolor produces to the point of being absolutely terrifying.

“Because I know how it feels like. To torture someone. To take a life.”

Silence. A small part of me expects A to mumble something through the earphone, but… nothing. I never told him much about my life before Wammy’s; I certainly never told him I’ve killed people. The night Watari found me, sleeping in an alley and drenched in blood, not even then did  _ he _ ask any questions. And as regards Elle… I can only guess whether Watari told him about me or not, and I don’t think I wanna find out either.

_ Focus already _ , I command myself.  _ We still have to catch Wallace _ .

At least, my confession achieved the effect I wanted. I now have the man drooling for me. I could make him dance in my palm if I want to. Time for phase four.

“Hey, this place is kind of noisy, don’t you think?” I purr, regaining all the sensuousness my former murderous demeanor washed away. “Let me take you somewhere else.”

“Alright.” He stands up, almost immediately, the light in his eyes swirling between lust and the urge to kill. Who knows, maybe those terms are synonyms to him. “I’ll take you to a fine place I know, a few streets from here-”

“No way!” I giggle, while dragging him by the tie. “This one’s on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So yeah, for the first time since I began writing this, I'm leaving a note. I really never know what to say in these, so I never say anything at all but... well, I hope you who are reading this are enjoying it. Just wanted to let you know we've already reached the second half of this QM journey, and you guys must be dying to get the LxB. It'll come soon, I promise!  
> I just wanted to warn you, if you're looking for something terribly indecent and smutty, well... this is my first fic so you won't find that here. I don't want to disappoint you when the story reaches its peak.  
> But there will definitely be LxB!!! I swear! And who knows, I might write a properly smutty second part -smirk-  
> Thanks for reading!!! And thanks to the 6 people who left kudos, I love you <3<3<3


	7. Phone Call

As soon as we arrive at the luxurious hotel A and I selected for tonight’s plan, my phone starts ringing. I mutter an ‘Excuse me’ to Wallace and walk to a corner of the lobby to speak.

“A, you can speak to me through the earphone, you know-”

“It is me.”

My heart skips a beat.

“L.” I look over my shoulder. I told Wallace to ask for the room I’ve booked earlier today under a fake name. He’s now at the reception desk, waiting for the key. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to give you a little advice regarding this case.”

“Hm... “ I shouldn’t accept his help, given that he’s supposed to evaluate our performance without participating. “Alright.”

“It is okay to play the killer’s game, to make him sympathise with you. But be careful. Don’t get carried away-”

“L.” I cut him. He must’ve picked the heaviness in my voice, for he said nothing more. “I really don’t know how much Watari told you about me, but what I said at the bar was true.”

A long pause.

“I understand.”

Oh. The constrainment in his voice… maybe I should’ve lied.

“I’m sorry. I… never told you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He replies, firmly. “You were not in the obligation of telling me anyway.”

That’s when I remember… he’s L. He must’ve been involved in many difficult cases, which required of morally questionable methods to be solved. To what extent can  _ he _ say his hands are clean? So he may understand me. Even more than A ever could.

“Still. Try not to hate me.”

What for? Not telling him before? Or for being a murderer altogether? I don’t even know myself. Yet, just when uncertainty begins slithering into my system, Elle’s reassuring determination fades it away.

“I could never hate you.”

A pang, like the one that caught me unprevented this morning, shakes me, and I close my eyes.  _ Thank you. Thank you so much for not hating me _ .

But I keep these words to myself. Instead, I say:

“And tell A I’m sorry too.”

“I will.”

“Hey, beauty.” I end the call and stiff the phone into my bag. Wallace approaches, a malevolent smirk taking over his features. “Are you coming?”

“Sure, gorge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AWWWWWW THE SHIPPING!


	8. The Tables Turn

As soon as we get into the room and the door shuts behind us, Kip Wallace’s tiny hands grab me by the waist with astonishing strength, and he tosses me on the bed.

“Woah! Not so fast, tiger.” I smile seductively, while playing with my hair. In the meantime, I glance in all directions, making sure everything is as it should: open window and a sniper on the opposite building, glass cups on the bar by the balcony which I can use af weapons if necessary, a steel poker by the door in case he tries to run away… all set. “How can I know you’re not that serial killer everyone’s talking about?”

“So what if I were?” He gets on the bed too, slowly crawling in my direction. “What would you do if I were, beauty?”

“Is that a confession?” I ask in a teasing tone, though I’m not joking at all.

“Oh, yes it is.”

His next movement is so swift it catches me off-guard. He closes his fingers around my ankle and pulls, unstabling me. With the other hand he grabs me by the hair, and crushes my head against the mattress.

“B!” A’s voice is drilling my ear, but I can barely make any sense out of his words. “I’m sending someone now!”

“No!” I groan. I still need to know how he locks the doors.

My hands quickly land on my thigh as I pat the spot where the hidden knife is, but I can’t get to it on time. He hits me in the forehead with his fist, and I bite my tongue.

That’s it. I’m gonna beat the fucking shit out of him.

I surround his neck with my arms, not trying to strangle him, but merely scratch his skin and take his breath away while I push him off of me. But it’s no use; he’s straddling me. Somehow, he conjures a tape roll from nowhere and begins binding my wrists. I try to punch him, but he already has me halfway tied. There’s nothing I can do.

“B, speak to him! Keep yourself alive!”

“Do you think I’m stupid, beauty?” He chuckles, while securing my ankles. “It was all too obvious to me. You thought you could fool me? I knew female spies were idiots, but this…”

“Well, at least I fooled you with that little detail.” I snarl, tossing the whole woman acting to hell. I rejoice in the utter shock that takes over his face and, for a second, I feel like laughing. Then I remember I’m the one who’s tied here.

“Never mind what you’ve got between your legs. I’m killing you anyway.”

“You know that’s a confession by itself, right?”

He smirks evilly- and a chill darts through my spine.

“I know.”

His tiny, repulsive hand then reaches for my chest, and rips the necklace off from me. He lets it fall, and then crushes it with his foot.

“How long do you think it’ll take for your backups to arrive here?” Wallace grabs me by the head. I try to bite his hand, but he dodges me. “Five minutes?” He sticks a finger into my ear -too harshly not to cause any pain- and unplugs the earphone. “Ten minutes?”

“I’d say three.” I answer cockily, only because I really need to buy myself some time.

“What a pity. I’ll be done with you in two.”

And he destroys the earphone too. There, my last connection to A… gone.

“Who cares?” I retort. “The evidence we gathered tonight, plus my corpse in this very room, will be enough to any jury.”

“Why should I care about the jury? You must catch me first, boy.” Good point. Good fucking point you bastard. And with only one glimpse of the numbers above your head, I know you’re right. “Do you know just how easy it is to disappear when you have money and the right connections?”

“You really like hearing yourself talking, don’t you Kip?” Say anything. Anything at all. Just keep on talking. Stay alive. “Why are you even telling me this?”

“Well, we have plenty of time before your friends arrive.” And he leans in, his face only inches away from mine, his reeking breath smothering me. “Besides, I realize when I’m being fed the truth. And that little thing about you having killed someone… that was true.”

“So this -letting me live a few more seconds- is a gesture of camaraderie?” I ask mockingly, trying my best to avert his attention while I rub my thigh with my elbow, slowly withdrawing the knife.

“Let’s just say I’m giving you a little present before you die. From fellow murderer to future Hell mate.”

“I’m  _ dying _ to know.”

“I’ll show you how I lock the doors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooaaah pivotal moment


	9. Escape

“So, that was  _ it _ ? That’s all there is to it? A magnet?”

“Oh, sorry to disappoint you.” he replies sarcastically, though I know that glow in a narcissist's eyes: my downlook offends him. Deeply. “What were you expecting, some complex, original mechanism of my invention?”

“Certainly more than this.” I snarl. “This is child's play. I know six-year-olds who could pull off something better.”

Like that Near boy at Wammy’s. Compared to him, Kip Wallace is just a pathetic piece of scum.

“Then I guess you can think of a better idea.” He inquires.

“I can think of a thousand better ideas!”

Actually, that’s what I did. It’d be so much easier if he just slided a string beneath the door and, with the help of geometry and a couple of nails -one on the opposite wall, one on the adjacent wall-, he used it to tug the lock closed. The triangle would create the perfect angle to do so, while it would also create the optimum conditions for the edge of the door not to absorb the string’s tension.

“You know what?” Kip Wallace then searches through the insides of his coat and withdraws a knife. “You’re an obnoxious little brat and you talk too much.”

He approaches once more, now with the clear purpose of ending my life for good.  _ Go ahead. Come at me. Come closer. _

“What about I chop your tongue?”

With one swift movement, I slide my own knife into my hands and slice the tape open. He moves almost instantly, pointing his blade to my neck -a one-move kill. I dodge and attack, but my ankles are still tied together and my movements are sloppy. I manage to avoid his following stabs, but eventually he gets hold of me and knocks me over, out of bed and to the floor. Holding his knife with both hands, he aims for my neck.

I let go of my weapon. You’re never supposed to give up your weapon when fighting for your life, but as I see it, if I hog to my knife right now I’m as good as dead. So I let go of my knife and grab him by the wrists instead. It’s amazing, just how much strength this tiny man possesses. I struggle with all my might to break the deadly angle his arms trace, to keep the steel far from me, even if it’s just a few inches. Right now, a few inches can change everything.

Shit, he’s strong… I- don’t think I can take it any longer…

“Kip Wallace! Open up! This is the FBI!” I can hear a scream beyond the door, and then someone kicks the lock. Thank God.

“Hey, Kippy.” I call. “I think you should better be going; if you want to run away, that is.”

“Fuck!”

He breaks the tension, moving the tip of his knife to the side, and I quickly sheer the silvery edge. Another kick at the door. Wallace stands up.

“Wise decision.” I blubber, doing my best to hide the fact that I’m breathless due to the effort.

He doesn’t find my comment funny at all. That’s probably the reason why he chooses to turn around, take his knife and slice a burning gash across my cheek, all in one movement. Blood runs down my face and drips from my chin, but I manage to hide the pain.

“I’ll be back for you, kid.”

He runs for the balcony, tossing all the glass cups to the ground and taking the metallic tray in his way, which he artfully uses to shield himself from the sniper’s bullets. And just when the FBI agents kick down the door and pour into the hotel room, he has already vanished beyond the banister. So all they find once in is a pathetic version of me, sitting on the floor in a red velvet dress and with my face stained with my own blood.

“You’re late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop thinking of B in a red velvet dress. Someone please draw this and post it on Tumblr  
> (my url is @voldy-in-my-turban pls tag me I want to see that *.*)


	10. Can't Take It Anymore

The few hours that followed the FBI’s arrival are a little fussy. I know some random guy disinfected the gash in my cheek and told me I didn’t need any stitches. I remember being driven back to the apartment in a black car, and A hugging me once I got there. I remember how weird it felt, given that A and I are not the hugging type. Was he really that afraid I would die tonight? Doesn’t he trust my abilities for self defense at all?

Yet… Was I even sure I would’ve made it out alive myself? I really don’t know.

L wasn’t there when I arrived. Of course, he probably had to discuss the next steps to take as regards Wallace, together with Watari and the police. I can’t help feeling that we just made things worse. L could’ve gathered enough evidence against the fucker to convict him and get him done swiftly. But now, Wallace is on the run, who knows where or how, and it’s my fault for not stopping him. Never mind how weak, tied or breathless I was back then… I could’ve done better. I  _ should’ve _ done better.

I apologized to A for that; for failing our evaluation, for letting the killer go. He didn’t seem to care at all, though. He kept on asking if my face hurt. We worked on the report for a few minutes until he practically commanded me to go get some rest.

I get rid of the stupid dress I’m still wearing as soon as I step into my room and hear the door close. My feet hurt, so does my forehead and my belly, at the point where he dug his knee to immobilize me. For the feeling of it, it’ll probably bruise by tomorrow. Wearing black boxers only, I step into the bathroom and hog there for a while.

It takes me some time to peel all the silicone prosthetics off my face and breast, and to wash the makeup and the blood away. Once I’m done I realize… it was probably a bad idea. Beneath the now vanished layers of gore and cosmetics, my face is awfully pale, dark shadows frame my bloodshot eyes, and the skin around the scar is acquiring a feverish blush. Except for that last thing, I almost look like L. I’d laugh, was I not so exhausted.

I get out of the bathroom, hoping drowsiness will kill all the self-hatred and impotence invading me, so I can sleep all the way through until tomorrow evening, when we’ll be returning to England. Back to Wammy’s, and to the burden of today’s failure.

But it seems I can’t sleep. Not as long as L remains sitting there, on the edge of the bed.

“Elle.” I whisper, not addressing him, but out of mere astonishment.

He must’ve been thinking too deeply about something right now, for when his eyes land on me they look unsure, lost; and his answer is slow.

“Beyond.” He stares at me for a long time. That’s when I remember I’m standing here like an idiot, on my undies only. My face grows hot with self-awareness, but both the shock of this realisation and the indifference my weariness produces dissuade me from going to get some clothes on.

I walk towards Elle instead.

“Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t died, you know.” I try to make my voice as bitter as the words themselves, but it sounds terribly forced. “I’m here. I’m fine. So don’t look at me like I’m at my deathbed.”

He stands up- and all of a sudden I become aware of the almost non-existent distance keeping us apart. I’m so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body, his breath on my lips, and my heart runs wild. I know I need something, but… what do I need?

“You promised you would not get hurt.” he murmurs. “You promised you would take care of yourself.”

“It’s not like I sliced my own cheek open, Elle-” The words should be firm, but my voice’s too shaky.

“No. But you were reckless all the same.”

So this is what all this is about. He came to scold me. To grab me by the back of my head and force me to dig my face into my own defeat. Like I can’t do that myself. I’m about to snap at him, or simply dodge him and get into bed once and for all, when his next action blows me away. He raises his hand and- he sticks his fingers into my hair. Softly. His thumb draws the shape of my scar in a slow, tender caress.

“Do you know,” he speaks, his voice barely a breath, his eyes firmly shut. “how worried I was?”

What?

“Do you have any  _ idea _ of what I thought that was going to happen to you?”

Elle…

“Can you even  _ imagine _ how bad I begged for you not to be dead?”

Elle, no…

“If you were to die… I…”

I hold his face with both hands, lean in and kiss him. He remains petrified on the spot for a few instants, but it’s not like I’m stopping now. I continue kissing him with equal conviction, and take a step closer so I can feel the rest of him near me. Eventually, he kisses me back too, his tongue entering my mouth, which sends waves of hot electricity through my whole body.

“Shut up.” I groan against his lips. “Just shut up already.”

We’re kissing again, his long fingers intertwining in the midst of my hair, at the back of my head. His free hand goes for my lower back, and he pulls me closer, until our bodies meet. I embrace him, our racing hearts pressed against each other. And I realise. It’s not something I need. It’s something I want. And that something is…

“Elle…”

When he hears my breathless call, his hand closes firmly around my waist. And somehow, he manages to make me turn and lay me down on the bed. I look up- he’s now straddling me, one hand on each side of my head, and he’s staring down at me, right into my eyes. I’d swear they never were so dark as now. I’ve never seen his face blush this much before either. And he’s panting, just like me.

“Beyond…”

There’s a needy note to his voice that makes my hands tremble. I reach up for him, and clutch the front of his white shirt before pulling him down. To me.

“Kiss me?”

And he does. We explore each other’s body with our hands, each other’s mouth with our tongues, for a long time. To discover this new flavor, these sensations that can’t be compared to anything… it all makes me burn in the inside. I want more. More of Elle. I wanna drown in him.

Our lips part, and he begins tracing a path of kisses along my jaw, behind my ear, all the way down my neck until he reaches my collarbone.

“Mmm…”

My hands slither beneath his shirt, and I marvel myself in the smoothness of his skin and the tickle of his lips in my shoulder. That’s when I remember…

Shit. We can’t go any further.

“Elle-  _ aah _ …” He’s now nibbling on my collarbone and neck, leaving bite-marks all over my skin. This is bad, but… it feels so good… “Elle… ngh… stop…”

Surprisingly enough, he does.

“What is it?” He whispers.

“A.” I answer, and quiver when I listen to my own shaky, needy voice. “His room is a wall apart. He’s probably still awake, working.”

“You are afraid he might hear us.”

I nod, for I can’t trust my own voice. I don’t want Elle to go. I don’t want his hands and lips to abandon my skin. But… I’m still trying to process all that’s just happened myself. I can’t afford A finding out about this all of a sudden. Neither of us can. That means Elle must go, before I’m unable to make him.

“Then…” He murmurs. I wait for the cold that’ll settle on me once he moves away, but it doesn’t come. When he speaks again, his voice has turned into a purr. “I’ll have to ask you to keep as quiet as you can.”

He opens his mouth, but instead of going for mine, he descends to my chest, and his tongue grazes my nipple.

“ _ Ngh _ …! Mph….”

And the same five words pop in my mind, for the second time in the day:

I could kill this bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooaaaaaah! This is what you were all waiting for!  
> Happy Valentine's Day! <3 <3 <3


	11. Quiet Morning

The few seconds right after I wake up, I’m too dizzied by last night’s sleep to even remember where I am, how I got here or even how I ended up naked. I sit up. Realisation hits me short after, and my hand instinctively lands on my neck, where Elle marked my skin with his teeth.

Holy fuck. I… slept with Elle last night.

My face grows hot, and I cover it with both hands to suffocate my own thunderstruck gasp. I did it. I actually did it, with none other than the great L himself. My childhood friend, my mentor… I made love with Elle-

_ Made love _ . So that’s how it is. I’m… in love with him.

I dig my fingers into my hair, as more memories begin pouring in my mind, no longer abstract concepts but defined sensations and actions. I recall L’s hands and lips in my body, the wetness of his fervent kisses, the consuming warmth of his nakedness against mine. Even now, my hands and knees grow weak when I think of his arms embracing me, but not as thoroughly as I embraced him, while he made a mess out of me. And an awful blush takes over my face when my masochistic mind conjures memories of my own voice, the way I moaned and called his name, even while trying my best to keep it low…

How am I even supposed to  _ look _ at him in the face now without wanting to stiff my head into a bag and choke in my own humiliation?

Well, I’m definitely a wreck now.  _ Get yourself together already _ . Last night was… are there even words good enough to define last night? It was amazing, more intense than any possible expectation. And if I had the chance of changing anything… I’d do exactly the same. I’d do anything at all to see Elle’s face like that again.

This inner monologue of mine gives me enough strength of will to get out of bed, take a shower and push myself into a white shirt and black trousers I withdraw from a pile of random clothing. As soon as I’m fully dressed, I notice something slightly off with the shirt, and before I begin drawing conclusions, the scent emanating from the cloth strikes me. It’s Elle’s.

Some rational voice inside my head tells me I should better change into another one, but I decide against it. Why, I have no idea.

I then walk into the kitchen-living room, only to find out the coffee maker’s already full of dark, dense caffeine, and Elle is wandering around, probably looking for a mug. As regards A, he must be still sleeping.

“Morning.”

He freezes in the spot for a fleeting instant, before turning around.

“Hey.” His cheeks are mildly blushed and the shadows under his eyes are slightly darker than usual, but he’s never looked so adorable to me. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure.” He resumes the search. I grin. Seeing him as moved by last night’s events as I am somehow loosened something inside of me. I don’t even know why everything felt so mortifying ten minutes ago.

He pours coffee into two mugs, and when he turns to hand me one of them I’m already there to take it. We drink in silence for a while. By the way he’s leaning against the counter and staring at me, he must be analyzing every thought that he believes must be going through my mind right now, before speaking. While I… I’m just admiring the morning landscape through the glass, and the way the sun reflects on his raven-black hair.

“Can you… walk normally?”

For some ridiculous reason, his question almost makes me laugh. Until I remember exactly  _ why _ he’s asking, and my face warms up.

“Yeah. You were…” I clear my throat, for putting it into words is too weird. “Gentle.”

“I did not want to hurt you.” He replies with feigned nonchalance, though the pink tint in his cheeks has gotten a shade darker.

With a sigh, I remove his mug from his grip with my free hand and settle both beverages on the bar surface. I take a step closer, unafraid to look deeply into his eyes for the first time in years.

“That’s the thing with us, isn’t it?” I brush my thumb against his lower lip, just a superficial stroke. “The closer we get to each other, the higher the chance that we’ll get hurt.”

Now that’s become melancholic. Yet, I can’t help acknowledging it’s true. That’s how I feel. The more I open up to Elle, the more I allow myself to love him, the more I fear he’ll someday be dragged out of my reach and fade into nothingness once more. Will I be able to hold myself together if he leaves me again?

“You are right. Yet…” His hands find my chest, and he clutches the shirt while penetrating my soul with his grey-black, owl eyes. “I’m willing to put up with the pain. I’m willing to take this chance with you.”

No. I won’t.

I lean in and rejoice in the sensation of kissing him once again. I trace the slender curve of his waist with my hands, while he digs his fingers into my hair. He tastes of coffee and quiet mornings and Elle. I explore the insides of his mouth with my tongue, and I’m overtaken by utter delight when he moans weakly in response.

“Beyond…”

“What…” I groan, as I cover his neck with slow kisses.

“What if A wakes u-  _ aah _ …” His voice breaks when my teeth dig into the hollow point between his neck and his shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to ask you to keep as quiet as you can.” I retort, and bite again.

My relationship with Elle Lawliet, L, has never been a normal one, let alone an easy one. Yet, I don’t care. Because I know that, no matter how dark and dangerous our nights get, we’ll always have mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it ends, guys. Yes, seriously. For those who left kudos, you're awesome! And even if you didn't leave any but you read this all the same, thanks for giving it a chance :)
> 
> Next 5 years I won't exist, but I might write something new someday (have a few ideas for an AssClass smutty fic hehe...)  
> That's all for now. See ya!


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